


If The Corner Booth Could Talk

by cherryandmapletrees



Series: The Milkshake Guild [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Archeryl mentioned at the end, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, The Milkshake Guild, gang mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryandmapletrees/pseuds/cherryandmapletrees
Summary: Fred Andrews and FP Jones were friends from a young age. Almost every afternoon after school was spent sitting in the back corner booth of Riverdale's favorite diner, Pop's. What secrets and origins can such an old booth hold within the cracked vinyl seats?





	If The Corner Booth Could Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Cyd (squids and shrugheadjonesthethird) for giving me the backbone of this story and helping me get back up on my feet after the backlash against part one of this little series, Sour Candy Past and Milkshake Future. She also beta'd this story for me, and I couldn't have done it without her. 
> 
> Thanks Mama Cyd <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy and feel free to leave a comment

It started when they were in second grade. Fred Andrews and Forsythe Pendleton  Jones Jr. were the most unlikely friends. Fred lived in a two story house in the Northside of Riverdale, with a front yard, a trampoline in the back, and elderly next door neighbors who fawned over him every time they ventured outside. 

 

Forsythe, who went by FJ since his name was a mouthful for kids his age, lived in a trailer on the Southside of Riverdale, spending as much of his time away from home, away from his alcoholic father who got a little too physical whenever he was drunk and angry.

 

They had gone to the same school since kindergarten, but FJ had been somewhat of a loner, even as young as they both were. While most of the kids were gathered around the crayons, fighting over the prized few that were still intact, he was in the corner with a book, reading as much as he could.

 

Fred had watched FJ for a while, but it wasn’t until first grade that he approached the other boy and spoke to him.They struck up a pretty quick friendship, but it wasn’t until the following year  that they officially had the ‘you’re my best friend’ conversation. 

 

After that, the boys were inseparable. Fred started asking if FJ could spend time at his house after school, and FJ jumped at the chance every time. 

 

Fred's mother got a job working as a waitress at the local diner, Pop's, and it became commonplace for the two boys to occupy the back corner booth while they waited for Mr. Andrews to pick them up and take them to the house. 

 

The woman who ran Pop's, Alicia, loved both of the boys, so they quickly received free milkshake privileges, but only one per day. For a child, that was pure gold, especially since normally they had to scrounge up enough change for a milkshake to split. 

 

Fred and FJ rapidly bonded over the thick, sweet, and creamy treats, and as they got older it became tradition to sit together over a shake or two. Sometimes they wouldn't even speak, Fred poring over his homework while FJ had his nose buried in the latest novel that had caught his attention. 

 

No matter what trials life threw at them, they always had the back corner booth of Pop's and two milkshakes to turn to. 

 

\--

 

It all came to a head in high school when they were both fifteen. FJ, who recently, in an attempt to separate himself slightly from the family name, had begun to go by FP, had just made the football team, and Fred invited him for a milkshake to celebrate. They sat across from each other, a strawberry milkshake for Fred and vanilla for FP. 

 

FP pulled the strawberry (why they gave strawberries with both the strawberry milkshakes and the vanilla he still wasn’t quite sure) from the top of his shake and popped it in his mouth, savoring the sour-sweet flavor of the fruit exploding over his tongue. He took the straw and stirred the shake twice clockwise, once counterclockwise (or widdershins as his friend Eliese liked to call it when she was trying to annoy him), and then dipped his pinky into the whipped cream and licked it off. It was a practiced move from years ago, a ritual he didn’t really participate in unless he was stressed. 

 

Fred noticed, of course, like he always had noticed everything over the years. Fred had actually noticed FP’s odd ritual before FP had, and he’d pointed it out to him.

 

“You alright FP?” the boy looked up from his shake, startled slightly.   

 

“Fine, Fred. Just a little stressed.” Fred nodded knowingly, leaning back against the booth. 

 

“I can tell. Is it about the history exam? I couldn’t really study for it, my parents were screaming at each other so loud, I couldn’t focus on the bullshit dates they expect us to memorize. Why the hell do I have to know the date that the Treaty of Versailles was signed?”

 

“Those who don’t learn their history are doomed to repeat it. And it’s good to know where we came from, what circumstances happened just perfectly to result in us being here right now, in this booth, with these milkshakes, having this conversation.” FP shrugged, pausing to take a sip from his straw before continuing. “That’s rough about your parents, man. I tried to tell my dad I wanted to go to college, be the first Jones to get out of this hellhole of a town.”

 

“How’d that go for you?” FP sighed slightly, debating for a moment before lifting his arm, now secure in a cast.

 

“He didn’t like that too much.” He noticed the flicker of realization and sympathy in Fred’s eyes. 

 

FP knew Fred always suspected something, it was a little hard to cover the purple-blue bruises that often covered his skin while they were all in the locker room, but he normally just explained it away as hazards of the game, injuries caused by slamming into others on a regular basis. 

 

Everyone else swallowed the lies with ease, perfectly willing to accept what was to them, a logical explanation. But not Fred. 

 

Fred, with the eyes that saw everything and missed nothing, noticed how FP, after he finished joking with the guys about his clumsy habits on the field, turned away and the smile fell from his face, the light dimming slightly from his eyes.

 

He had only been to the Jones’ trailer a handful of times, but he’d noticed the cautious way FP moved around, the way his body always curved as far from his father as it could without even realizing he was doing it. A natural occurrence, drilled into him from years of walking on eggshells. 

 

“Well then. There’s your reasoning to get to college. To spite him. He still on you about joining the Serpents?” FP nodded, a non committal hum coming from him as he focused his attention on his shake, sucking half of it down before he looked back up.

 

Fred was focusing on his own shake, a sort of calm quiet settling over the booth, when an idea snapped into his head.

 

“FP, what if you joined a different gang?” His friend looked at him with an equal measure of shock and disgust.

 

“I wouldn’t go near the Ghoulies with a forty and a half foot pole, Fred.” The boy across the booth waved his hand dismissively, scoffing. 

 

“No, not the Ghoulies. I’m not insane. Maybe… maybe gang was the wrong word. What about like, a guild?” FP’s eyebrow rose slowly, still watching Fred with curiosity. “A milkshake guild.”

 

“What the hell is a milkshake guild? Andrews, you’re making no sense.”

 

“Easy. It’s you and me, Jones. We’ve been sitting right here, in this booth, for a long damn time drinking milkshakes together. It’s  _ our  _ thing, the thing no one else gets to take from us. Almost our whole lives, this is the one thing we’ve had for just the two of us. So let’s make it official. We’ll give it a name, The Milkshake Guild, come up with a secret sign of some sort, and make a few rules. Then bam. It’s officially our thing, from now until forever.”

 

“That sound ridiculous and childish, Fred.” A slow grin worked its way up FP’s lips as he leaned back, resting his arms along the top of the booth. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”

 

“Excellent. So the first law of the guild is… don’t talk about the guild.” FP’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, bracing his arms against the table, drawn in by the mention of one of his favorite novels. 

 

“You finally finished the Palahniuk novel I gave you, didn’t you? Did you like it?” Novels were the one thing FP ever let himself fully enjoy, and recommending novels for Fred to read was his way of letting his friend inside his walls, even just a little.

 

“Loved it. Anyway, rule two.”

 

“Did you just come up with this or have you been thinking of this for a while?” 

 

“Obviously I just thought of it, you were sitting right here.” FP shrugged, fiddling with the straw in his half melted shake.

 

“I’m just saying man, you seem to have a lot of thought put into this.”

 

“What can I say, I’m an intellectual.” 

 

“You got a B on the history test last week.” Fred shook his head, laughing slightly.

 

“Yeah, because  _ somebody _ didn’t help me study.”

 

“ _ Somebody  _ had practice to go to.”

 

“ _ As I was saying.  _ Rule two. You can’t be angry at someone you’re drinking a milkshake with. Automatic truce.” FP narrowed his eyes, skeptical.

 

“Why do I feel like you’re going to use that one against me a lot?”

 

“Probably because I will.” 

 

“Fair enough. We stopping at two rules?” 

 

Fred raised an eyebrow at his friend, staring at him. “Well if you’d shut up, I could continue.” A smirk and a silent raise of his hands in surrender was the only response from FP. 

 

Fred rolled his eyes and continued. “Rule three is… you can’t drink the same flavor twice in a row. So right now you’ve got vanilla, so you can’t get that next time. Can’t hurt to mix it up every once in a while. And… the last rule, for if we want to bring girls into this later on, or guys, whichever is fine. Last rule is: if you hear the laws of the milkshake guild from someone in the guild and you’re drinking a milkshake while you hear them, you have to go on a date with whoever told you the laws.”

 

“Smooth, Andrews.” Fred grinned, pleased.

 

“You’re not the only ladies man around, Jones.”

 

“What about the secret sign?” Fred thought for a moment, wracking his brain before thinking of something. 

 

“It’s simple. Your ritual. Eat the topping, stir twice clockwise, once counterclockwise, and then a whipped cream finger lick.” FP nodded, and after a moment, reached forward to grabs Fred’s glass, sliding his across the table at the same time.

 

“Final step. A sip from each other’s shakes to solidify our place in the guild, and a sip from every shake hereafter.”

 

“Deal.” They clinked their glasses together before taking a drink and sliding the glasses back, their shoulders a little lighter now. “Who knows, maybe we can teach this to our kids someday.”

 

\--

 

FP Jones and Fred Andrews continued their Milkshake Guild traditions for years after that, Fred eventually inviting the pretty redhead girl from his science class, Mary, into the guild, calling FP in triumph that night when it caused her to giggle and accept his offer of a date.

 

FP followed suit a few months after that with Gladys, a girl he’d met when he had finally given up on his dreams of a college scholarships and broke down to join the Serpents. 

 

They both went their separate ways after that, but both of them always looked fondly back on those years, and occasionally, when out drinking a milkshake with their families, they couldn’t help but participate in the little ritual, staring back at the corner booth where the ghost of their former selves still seemed to sit, laughing over two glasses before the world had crushed their spirits. 

 

\--

 

It had been years since Fred had thought about the guild, but he’d taught it to Archie when he was younger, as a little secret. He never expected Archie to come home one night, Cheryl Blossom on his arm, both of them holding bags and glasses from Pop’s. They said hello to Fred, Cheryl smiling politely, and sat at the table, spreading out the food, Cheryl handing Fred the bag they’d brought him. 

 

In quiet astonishment, he watched as they both popped the tops off of the cups, and in perfect unison, pulled the strawberry from the top of their vanilla milkshakes, ate them, and then stirred the shakes, twice clockwise, once counterclockwise, and finally took a bit of whipped cream on the tips of their fingers and licked it off before swapping shakes to take a sip and handing them back.

 

He retreated to the living room to give the couple some time alone, and he slipped into a pensive silence. Him and Mary had split up a while back, he knew for a fact that FP and Gladys hadn’t been together in years, she’d taken Jellybean and left for Toledo. 

 

What better time for a visit to their old corner booth and a few milkshakes, he thought, pulling out his phone and dialing FP’s number.

 

For old times sake.

 


End file.
